


Sunken Bones

by unholygrass



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, M/M, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Nightmares, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), android body horror, connor is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 20:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16436381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholygrass/pseuds/unholygrass
Summary: Markus dreams of the junkyard. Connor eases him back into reality with back scratches.





	Sunken Bones

**Author's Note:**

> This is just fluff. I just wanted to write some pure Conkus fluff and this is what happened. Super Short and sweet. Also I used to be under the username Spitfire00 in case anyone is confused I just changed my name. I also have a lot more Conkus based fics in the works so be ready for that.

_ There are hands on him, tugging at his shoulders and hips, leaving gouges in his chassis and making the little skin that still clung to him glitch further. He’s going to drown in the mud, collapse in their limbs— they’ll pull him down and devour him. They’re only hurting and scared, but so is he, and he can’t die here. There’s still too much that he needs to do— his death could mean the death of his people’s freedoms—  _

 

_ A hand drags across his jaw softly— it could almost be tender, could almost be Connor— but it digs in at the last second and latches onto his ear, tries to tear it off— tries to keep him there.  _

 

_ He ducks down further. Puts one foot in front of the other. Somehow he knows it won’t matter in the end. He’d escaped this place once, but today it would finally claim him. Perhaps it already had, and he was merely concocting his own hopeless fantasy of freedom. Perhaps this place had already consumed him, left him nothing but a string of broken code and fractured consciousness, not daring to dream of escape, but only the hope that came with it.  _

 

_ Either way, it doesn’t matter. The static hissing in his ears only blurs the lines of up and down further, the thirium seeping past his leaking valves refuses to slow, and he no longer has the strength to pull himself free from the grasping fingers that tug on him.  _

 

_ He will die here, buried beneath heaps of writhing bodies, all crying for the release of death. They’re not monsters— they used to be people— but in that moment they are nothing but corrupted skin and limbs, determined to make him one of their own. He fears not death, but of how long it will take to claim him. How long will he have to endure this place? How long until he began to scream too— his voice fused with their anguished cries until he was no longer a person, but merely a shattered soul looking for the end?  _

 

_ He falls on legs that are not his own, stomach sinking into the mud while his vision flickered in and out in front of him. There are bodies pressing in on him, trapping him in the mud, suffocating him. They’re on his back, his legs, his neck— too heavy to throw off. No amount of squirming or shrieking persuades them. _

 

_ He has to get up— they’re killing him— he’s trapped— he’s trapped—  _

 

“Markus. ” 

 

The weight is gone, and he can hear the silence of the living room permeating his consciousness instead of the heavy rain that had overwhelmed him in the junkyard. His vision is intact, taking in the crisp colors thrown across the room from the muted television in the corner. His skin covers his body, and he is dry. 

 

He’s home. He’s not back there— he’s home. 

 

“Markus?” Connor is knelt in front of him, brows drawn in concern and face shadowed harshly from the blue glow of the TV. His dark eyes reflect the light brightly, almost making them look fogged over and hollow. His hand rests on Markus’s bicep and the other hovers over his cheek, not quite touching. His hair is frayed and his shirt rumpled, coat gone and tie missing. It’s an unusual state to see him in. 

 

The dark corners of the room are still threatening to reach out and grab him around the throat, and when his eyes stray Connor finally cups his face in both hands, drawing him back. “Markus.” As always, Markus finds himself latching onto Connor’s face, drawn in by his glowing eyes and purposeful touch. Connor has always been his best distraction— always been there when he needed to be rescued from his own hell. Connor gently moves Markus’s legs up so he can perch on the couch, and without prompting Markus finds himself seeking out the security that has always come with his counterpart. Connor smells like gunpowder and laundry detergent, and when Markus leans back against his chest his hands encircle him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Connor’s hands are gentle when they run over the crown of his head, soft little sweeping motions that help ground him when the tendrils of his corrupted sleep cycle try to encroach upon his mind. 

 

“Did it happen again?” Connor’s voice is gentle against his nerves, low and calming in every way that Connor always is. He shuffles a bit behind him, reclining back on the couch until Markus laid upon his chest while remaining propped up against the cushions. Markus turns his face until his nose is pressed into the creases of Connor’s dress shirt, breathing him in. He nodded against his sternum. He and Connor had spent hours talking about their metaphoric nightmares— metaphoric because they were androids, and their dreams were synthetic and resulted purely from the recycling of corrupted data files, and nightmares because they left Markus shaken, tense and paranoid upon release— frightened for hours and lost in his own mind. Markus’s were more frequent, and with time he and Connor had developed a loose system on how to keep a lid on them. Connor’s were rarer but more vicious, left him nonverbal and unresponsive until Markus could finally draw him out of the garden he had locked himself in. 

 

Connor kept one arm wrapped around him securely, but the other dipping lower beneath the collar of Markus’s shirt to rub soft circles into the skin between his shoulder blades. It feels impossibly nice. He occasionally draws his fingers up brush over the nape of his neck, nails scratching at the stubble beneath his hairline until Markus shudders. 

 

Connor huffs out a tiny laugh. “Sorry.” His hand moves on.    
  
Markus shakes his head. “No’s good. It feels good.” The hand pauses for a moment before returning, stubby fingernails scratching gentle patterns across his scalp. If he focused, Markus could probably recognize whatever Connor was tracing into his skin, but his interface is lingering back between consciousness and resting. He wonders idly when Connor got so good at this. Wonders what he did to get so lucky to have Connor at all— is about to say so, in fact, when Connor breaks the silence. 

 

“Are you okay?” It’s his shorthand version of asking if Markus was still distressed— if he wanted to talk about it, get it out into the cool air of their living room. It had taken months for Connor to learn how to voice what he was feeling to those he loved, but emotionally packed moments still tended to catch him off guard. Likewise, while Connor had been learning how to understand himself, Markus had been learning how to read him and his oddities when he wasn’t sure how to vocalize his true emotions. 

 

“I’m okay.” He says, eyes drifting shut. He won’t sleep— doesn’t want to, and doesn’t need to yet. It took five hours sleep to bring his stress levels all the way back to zero, and managing his stress had become an important part of keeping sane while leading the development of the New Jericho and Android Rights movement— but resting on Connor, listening to the gentle thrum of the thirium pump whirring under his chest, those long fingers dancing across his skin... it had practically the same effect. Connor’s presence did that to him— Connor meant safety, meant hiding away and not fearing any death that could come for him, because Connor was a protector, and Connor always saved him in the end. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please review!


End file.
